


A Pretty Look Of What We Could Be

by Emamel



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alcohol, Because our lady deserves to be happy, Established Relationship, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I promise this is actually Jupeter, M/M, Mick Mercury (mentioned), Not actually AU, Rita (mentioned) - Freeform, bear with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 11:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16786246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emamel/pseuds/Emamel
Summary: He doesn’t see the man enter, but he knows it’s happened by the ripple that sweeps the crowd - hushed mutters and excited little giggles behind hands. Juno doesn’t turn, doesn’t look up from his drink. He’s lost count of which one this is by now, but Oldtown booze falls into two categories; strong enough to blind you two sips in, or watered down enough that you’d be better off drinking from the bathroom sink, because at least then you’d have a decent chance of getting some hallucinogens with your hydration. Juno’s drink sadly falls into the second category, and he takes a moment to glare at it, just to make sure it understands how disappointing it is.“My,” says a voice beside him, breathy and amused. “What in the world did that drink ever do to you?”





	A Pretty Look Of What We Could Be

**Author's Note:**

> Help, I've fallen into Junoverse hell and I can't get up. I wrote this in like two days on approximately four hours of sleep and it shows, but I'm going to throw this out there completely unedited anyway, because I'm too tired to remember why that might be a bad idea. Title is from 'Strangers' by Sigrid, and it'll quickly be obvious why.
> 
> Set in a kind of nebulous future where everything works out OK. Even the Oldtown/Newtown stuff. Because I want something nice for myself. Also, I don't write porn. I can't write porn. Can you tell?
> 
> Potential trigger warning re: alcohol - see end for more detail (spoilers ahead)
> 
> Please come and shout at me about these idiots over on tumblr - you can find me at theaceace. Please. I'm begging.

He doesn’t see the man enter, but he knows it’s happened by the ripple that sweeps the crowd – hushed mutters and excited little giggles behind hands. Juno doesn’t turn, doesn’t look up from his drink. He’s lost count of which one this is by now, but Oldtown booze falls into two categories; strong enough to blind you two sips in, or watered down enough that you’d be better off drinking from the bathroom sink, because at least then you’d have a decent chance of getting some hallucinogens with your hydration. Juno’s drink sadly falls into the second category, and he takes a moment to glare at it, just to make sure it understands how disappointing it is.

“My,” says a voice beside him, breathy and amused. “What in the world did that drink ever do to you?”

Juno glances up and his breath catches. _Oh,_ he thinks, _I must have drunk more than I thought after all_ ; because that’s the only reason he suddenly feels dizzy, of course, the only reason Mars seems to be tilting on a different axis than it was five minutes ago.

“Question is, what _didn’t_ it do to me?” Juno manages, voice impressively even. “And the answer is ‘anything’. Can’t even get good moonshine these days.”

The man laughs, quick and shocked, like it’s been punched out of him. Under the lights, his teeth glint red. Juno thinks there’s very little this man does that isn’t on purpose, and feels a little thrill shiver down his spine that he could surprise as much as a laugh from him.

“Well, we can’t be having that,” he says – he sounds airy, light and saccharine sweet. A trap, Juno thinks, to catch more flies with honey, although Mars was never terraformed enough to support bees, and the flies out here… well. No use using honey _or_ vinegar to try and get _those_ bastards. The man turns to the bar to order them drinks, and Juno takes the opportunity to study him freely.

Oldtown haunts like this aren’t known for their bright and vibrant atmosphere, but this man wears shadows like a second skin, and clothes that are tight enough to be a first. There’s a lingering curve at the corner of his eyes that tempers the wicked flash of his smile, makes him seem almost approachable – almost. His black hair is swept back, but Juno can see where he’s been running his hands through it; restless, or stressed, maybe, although he would never show any such perceived weakness in public.

Unfortunately for Juno, his mind takes that as it’s cue to start imagining _other_ situations out of the public eye that hands might run through that hair, and he has to dig his nails into the palm of his hand until he can start paying attention again.

Whether by design or just good luck, the man has come to stand on Juno’s good side, so at least he can watch him from his periphery – there’s nothing worse than trying to subtly observe someone when you have a blind spot that takes up all of your right side. Juno glances away, watches the bartender – the same guy that’s been working here for as long as Juno can remember, and gave up being done with Juno’s shit years ago – pour their drinks. Something bubbly for his companion, and straight whiskey for Juno, although from a much higher shelf than Juno would ever consider for himself.

“Thanks,” Juno says cautiously, accepting the tumbler after a moment’s pause. “Do I get a name to go with the liquid bribe?”

“Bribe?” The man’s eyebrows start to climb, although there’s still an amused glint in his eye. He tips his head forward to watch Juno over the rim of his glasses. “Why, whatever do you suppose I would be bribing you for?”

“Well see, I’m trying to think of reasons you would be in Oldtown looking like that, only to come over _here_ , and offer to buy _me_ a drink, and the only things I can come up with so far are you’re bribing me for something, or you were sent to kill me. I prefer the first one, though, so I figured I’d start there.”

He’s grinning now, split ear to ear, sharp teeth on full display. It’d be enough to make Juno nervous, if it wasn’t already making him lose the last traces of his mind.

“And I suppose it never crossed your mind that I might just like to enjoy some conversation with a lovely lady? Are bribery and murder really the first places your thoughts turn to when a stranger buys you a drink?”

“What can I say? I’ve learned from experience. Eventually.” The man – he doesn’t laugh at that, not exactly, but his breath huffs between his teeth. It’s a commiserating, exasperated sort of sound, Juno thinks. Like he’s been there himself, like he knows exactly what Juno means; there aren’t many people that can honestly say that. But then, this man doesn’t look like he’s said anything honestly in his life.

“It sounds as though there’s a story there,” he says, and he sounds thrilled by the thought. “One I’d be delighted to hear, if you’re willing?”

Juno looks away long enough to sip from his drink. The whiskey is smooth on his tongue, in his throat; it’s been a long time since he’s had a drink like this. It probably cost more than his office’s rent. It _definitely_ cost more than his apartment’s.

“Depends,” Juno’s mouth says before his mind has a chance to bring up all the very valid reasons why this is not a good idea. “My line of work, it’s not a good idea to give away information for free.”

That eyebrow creeps up again. “Oh? How mysterious. And what exactly did that drink buy me, if not a story?”

Juno smiles, in the way that he knows is all hard edges and dark corners; the one that Rita accuses him of practicing in the mirror. It’s a smile that used to come scant seconds before blaster fire, that offered the barest warning to anyone seeing it that their day was about to get infinitely worse. The man looks nothing but charmed by it.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Juno says.

The look softens, from charmed to something genuinely affectionate. Juno thinks he should be concerned by this, or at least concerned by how _not_ concerned he is.

“That you are.” The man tilts his head, considers Juno, and holds out a hand to shake. “Etta Rowan, at your service.”

Juno takes his hand slowly – Rowan brings it to his mouth and lingers there, gaze never leaving Juno’s. He can just barely see the edges of a smile curving past his fingers, and it’s enough to make his heart drop into his stomach. It’s been a while since anyone smiled at him like that. Like he’s the kind of lady worth that easy, flirtatious grin. Like he’s the _only_ lady worth that.

It takes a couple of tries and false starts before he can gather himself well enough to reply.

“Juno Steel,” he says; Rowan lowers their hands but doesn’t let go, and Juno – well, he pretends like he’s just forgotten. He’s still sat slumped a little on his stool, while Rowan leans against the bar, all long lines and carefully crafted elegance. Even if Juno were to draw himself up to his full height, he thinks Rowan would still have a few inches on him; he’s lithe where Juno is stocky, built for speed and dexterity where Juno is brute force and stubbornness. It shouldn’t be as attractive a thought as it is; the idea of the two of them together, as mismatched as it’s possible for two people to be.

And yet…

There’s no denying that it’s an idea Juno wants to explore further.

“Then I have to say, it’s both a pleasure and an honour,” Rowan says. “Your reputation precedes you, detective.”

“Oh no,” Juno mutters; a reflex. Rita’s been on his case about the way he thinks about himself, talks about himself. She’s relentless when she gets like that, and Juno knows that it’s easier to go along with her plans and schemes than try to fight the current – it never usually lasts, anyway. But he’s been waiting for her to forget all about her newest obsession for weeks now, and it looks like he’s going to have to keep waiting. She’s managed to drag Mick down with her, and between them they have Juno on the verge of thinking… ugh. Good things about himself.

“Oh yes,” Rowan replies brightly, no trace of irony or sarcasm in his voice. “I’ve always wanted to meet a detective, you know. Do tell me, Juno; what have you deduced about me?”

His tone is playful, and his eyes dance in the low light. Juno lets himself get lost in those eyes for a minute before he yanks his focus back. It’s a good question. What _has_ he deduced? He narrows his eye, considering all the little details that have been adding up to form a picture of Etta Rowan in his mind.

“This isn’t your first time on Mars, but it is the first time in a while,” Juno says, tasting the words as he speaks, feeling the shape of them around his tongue. Rowan’s face doesn’t change, but Juno knows he’s right. “You aren’t from here. Rhea?”

Delight sparks across Rowan’s eyes. “Just so! What gave me away?”

So Juno just – talks. Walks Rowan through his observations, skipping from thought to thought with a speed that he’s sure must make him almost incoherent, but Rowan nods along to each point like it’s fascinating. It takes him a while to realise that Rowan’s thumb is smoothing careful lines across the back of his hand; after that it’s a struggle not to stare. It takes him even longer to realise that he hasn’t taken a drink since they started talking, that he’s been talking all this time and hasn’t once bitten his tongue against a snippy little comment designed to infuriate Rowan into leaving. Generally, even when Juno’s talking to people he knows and likes, there’s that little whisper that he needs to nip things in the bud, send them running for the hills _now_ , before he can wrap himself even further around them.

Come to think of it, it’s been a while since he’s done that.

By the time Rowan tugs at his hand towards the door, Juno’s stopped talking, and started listening – Rowan sure knows how to spin a tale. Juno even laughs aloud a couple of times. It’s soft, and a little choked, but each time Rowan looks like he’s just won the lottery. A couple of times they stop on the way out of Oldtown; Juno has a habit of pausing by sewer grates to listen for chatter from the rabbits. Most of them know him, by scent and reputation if nothing else, and they’re surprisingly good informants (gossips) for beings that don’t speak common Sol, or read. Rowan indulges him each time, but Juno notices how he presses a little closer, walks a little faster after each pause, until they’re nearly tripping over each other up the steps to Juno’s apartment. 

It takes him longer than he’s proud of to get the door open, but he thinks it’s fair to blame that on the way Rowan’s teeth have found their way to his jawline, his hands starting to creep up Juno’s skirt. Juno pushes back, listens to the quick little breaths Rowan can’t seem to get back under his control until he finally manages to wrangle the damn code into the pad.

Rowan pushes him back against the door, slamming it shut as soon as they’re inside, and Juno’s sure he must have at least ten hands, because it feels like they’re everywhere. He’s surrounded, he’s overwhelmed, and every kiss lasts a lifetime, there’s a heavy smell in the air. Cologne, he thinks vaguely, and smiles against that clever mouth.

Juno’s bed is technically too small for two people, but they don’t need a lot of room, twisted together the way they are. And after, they don’t separate – Juno tucks his face under Rowan’s chin, lets his eye drift shut, lets the sound of a quick heart lull him to sleep. And in the morning, he wakes up, and blearily twists to look up at Peter Nureyev’s smile, pushes into Peter Nureyev’s hands carding through his hair, listens to Peter Nureyev’s hoarse murmur of _morning, dear_.

He smiles, closes his eyes, and goes back to sleep.

* * *

Juno can’t really remember the details of how this thing started, and as much as he likes to blame Nureyev, he has the uncomfortable suspicion it was actually his fault. He thinks he’d been out staking out a café, he’d been tracking a minor member of a trafficking ring that continually skimmed under the radar of the HCPD. But not, as it happened, under the radar of Vespa, who took these sorts of cases very personally. Juno had managed to talk her out of the guns blazing approach she’d favoured, at least until he’d managed to sniff out who was actually involved and who was unfortunate enough to be stood too close.

Nureyev had been off Mars for almost a month, and was due to be gone for two more, which was why Juno tensed when he’d slid into the chair across Juno’s table, two mugs of steaming pickmeup in his hands. Immediately, Juno started scanning the room, because if Nureyev was back already then something had to have happened, had to have gone wrong, he looked back, and saw –

Oh. It was definitely him – there was no mistaking those eyes, that smile. But everything else was just slightly… _off_. Nureyev always carried himself like he was balancing the weight of the world on his head, and a single careless step would send it tumbling down around his ears. This man, his shoulders curved in, like he was protecting himself; he glanced up from under his lashes, shy, cautious. Like he was scared of rejection, from a lady he’d never met before.

As it happened, everything had gone Nureyev's way so stunningly that the piece he'd been hired to... acquire had literally fallen into his lap months ahead of schedule. He'd only wanted to surprise Juno - which, admittedly he had. _Mission success_ Juno said dryly later, only barely pretending to be irritated with him.

But Juno hadn't know that back then; so, Juno ran with it. And ran with it, and kept running. After a while, it became more of a game, or maybe a dance – one that they knew every step to, every quick little sway and slow turn. Nureyev didn’t always know when he’d be coming back to Mars, sometimes not even until he was already on a long-distance hauler en-route. But he always managed to find Juno, usually straight after dropping whatever luggage he’d collected this time at Juno’s apartment. He approached Juno as a banker, as a struggling actor, as a farmer, as a reporter, from every planet from Mars to the Outer Rim, and it always ended the same way; with Juno unravelling this new identity he’d created for his latest heist, and eventually taking him home.

They’d made the mistake of meeting like that in front of Rita exactly once, and had been treated to a full hour and twenty three minutes (Juno had timed it) of her delighted cooing over how they were just like the main couple from this one super niche stream, you probably haven’t heard of it Mister Steel, Frannie only just started getting me into watching it, but it’s all about this conman with a heart of gold, who – and at that point, Juno had stopped listening, and started just nodding along while sharing amused looks with Cal Bird, a 'security officer' recently arrived from Earth.

He was pretty sure she’d also tried to explain it to Mick later given the bizarre and unsubtle questions his oldest friend had started to ask, but that thought usually made his head hurt, so he tried not to consider it too often.

Nureyev, meanwhile, seemed nothing less than thoroughly entertained by the whole thing, and had started appearing in the least likely places in an attempt to get Juno to break character. But it had been years since Juno was so easy to divert – years of Nureyev’s teaching no less. Though Juno rarely joined him on his… adventures, there was no excuse for getting rusty.

And if, occasionally, old names and faces made an appearance – the Roses at Buddy and Vespa’s anniversary party had shocked more than a few people that had heard whispers of the Utgard Express disaster – well. Juno always knew Nureyev was a sap.

* * *

It always starts with a new name, an unknown person in the crowd approaching Juno with a disarming smile, and it always ends like this – Nureyev curled up in the only spot of sun that filters onto Juno’s old couch, a new piece of jewellery draped somewhere ostentatious, and a new hideous painting for Juno’s wall. Juno’s feet always end up tucked beneath Nureyev’s thighs, and he always glances up from his paperwork to find Nureyev already watching him, that smile just as disarming, but now sweet and comfortable. Well-worn. Well-loved. And Juno always smiles back, just a little, lopsided by scar tissue until it tugs at his cheek. And Nureyev reaches across the distance to pull him in for a kiss, and it always, always feels like something new.

**Author's Note:**

> Potential trigger warning - two characters (in an established and happy relationship) get into sexual situations having been drinking alcohol. Both characters are aware of and in control of their actions, and neither of them are drunk, but please use caution if you think this may be upsetting for you.


End file.
